


Winged Release

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Back to Middle-Earth Month, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for B2MeM Challenge N43 on my 'Art Supplies' and 'Beasts' Bingo cards. Features two Lake-town survivors.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Winged Release

**Author's Note:**

> Written for B2MeM Challenge N43 on my 'Art Supplies' and 'Beasts' Bingo cards. Features two Lake-town survivors.

He cursed quietly under his breath as the knife slipped, cutting too deeply into the wood. He swiped his thumb along the grain as he examined his work, trying to determine if it could be salvaged. To be sure these were less than ideal conditions - the lighting low, his exhaustion high - but if he wanted to have a collection of wares ready for sale when the town and its new market were rebuilt he needed to begin now.

Starting again, he tried to have nothing but the final product in mind, envisioning what would soon become the long, graceful lines of a crane's neck. But soon his mind wandered to the day of labor, the last of the pillars set deep in the lakebed. One more step toward a new Lake-town, but still many miles to go. Again he wondered if it would be wiser to leave, to join those who were rebuilding Dale. There'd be fewer challenges, less time before significant progress would be made. But somehow it would feel like admitting defeat, of abandoning what little was left of their former life.

The flap of their makeshift home was pulled aside as his daughter came in, her basket nearly bare save for a few wild berries and herbs. He could tell she had been crying, her eyes still slightly puffy from recently shed tears. He could not meet her eye, ashamed to be glad to see her sorrow, pleased one of them could still cry for the loss of their family in the dragon's deadly blaze. She sat beside him and watched him work in silence, curling her pale hands into the folds of her skirt. He wanted to reach out, put an arm around her and give some meager comfort, but instead he continued carving, making slow but steady progress.

"Why cranes?" she asked, her voice quiet but still startling in the bare space they now called home. "Why not a horse or a bear, something strong?"

For a minute he thought of letting the question fade into the air, be enveloped by this awkward limbo that was now their life. But he heard his beautiful wife's admonishment from across the vast divide that separated them, her warmth soothing across his weary shoulders.

"Your mother believed that cranes were a sign of revitalization, of resurrection, as they came again each spring. It seemed a fitting tribute, a way to give a little hope."

He could feel her eyes on him, unwavering and patient, and finally he could not help but to meet her gaze. A smile shimmered in her eyes and for a moment he saw her mother, vibrant and alive, before him. She laid a cold hand over his and quickly kissed his cheek before rising to retrieve her mending, settling down at the far side of the room. He watched her for one moment more, then turned back to his work, slowly carving the crane, releasing it from the wood.


End file.
